The Heist
by MandereLee
Summary: Modern AU. Lan Fan is a bodyguard for hire, Ling is trying to dismantle his father's business, and together they get into some serious shenanigans.
1. Chapter 1

AN: So when I was on vacation last week, I was suddenly hit by an inspiration to write something of this premise. As soon as I came home, I started sketching out the details, and out popped this chapter. I still don't have any idea what's supposed to happen, or where it's supposed to go, but seeing that I'm quite a lazy writer (haven't finished a single story in a decade), I think I should take it easy on myself and not plan to make it more than 10 chapters, if I do discover where this is heading.

Anyway, haha, let's all laugh at my automail pun.

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Operation Greed did not work. That should have been unsettling enough in itself, but with the girl bleeding to death in his arms, that was that last thing he needed to worry about. For now. He'd get another chance in the future... if he lived through this. With the smell of blood and refuse assaulting his nose, Ling rushed through the labyrinth of the underground sewers; his pursuers had been at him for almost an hour now, persistent even in this cold. The last gunshot he'd heard was only several minutes behind them, not far enough that he could stop.

Ling didn't see the muck, and only felt his weight give in as his left foot skidded over the paved walkway of the sewers. The next thing he knew, he and the girl were spitting out foul-tasting fluid, as they flailed to get back up on the walkway from the sluggish current of the sewage water.

_Damn, damn, damn._

He grabbed her around her torso and almost tossed her up like a ragdoll onto the pavement. The gash where her left arm should have been was gaping open, the cloth he had tied hastily around it now swimming away with the rest of the filth down the sewer.

_Damn it._ If that wound hadn't been infected before, it definitely would be now.

Ling climbed to follow her, then picked her up from the ground where she writhed in silent agony. He ran to the nearest corner he could find, where he settled her down. Her face was pasty, and he could no longer tell if the wetness damping her skin was sweat or sewage. Quickly, he ripped away her shirt down the left shoulder; the stump was an ugly mess of blood and severed flesh and bone, and there were some slight burns evident on her skin. He took off his mask, his coat, then his shirt. He hadn't sunk low enough in the sewer water for the top part of his clothes to be tainted, and though far from the sanitary bandage this girl needed, it was the best he could do, the best he had. He covered the wound first with his mask, then wrapped his shirt around the stump, as tightly as he could, wincing against her voiceless scream. When he'd tied the knot, he settled her on his lap, as he crouched in the corner, trying to be as small as possible. His breathing and the slush of the water were the only sounds present, and Ling strained his ear to hear any signs of pursuit.

After several tense moments, he slumped down against the wall, clutching the girl to him. It was cold. He was shirtless and tired, scared and more than a little disappointed. In himself. In everyone else. In his father. But what else did he expect?

_I expected it to work_.

Was that it? Had he been over-confident? Had he overlooked something in his plans, a loophole, a careless mistake, anything? He knew the operation had been dangerous, but if they were risking more than they could afford, the plan had been to stop and surrender the documents.

No, he hadn't overlooked anything. But he'd been naïve. He hadn't expected them to kill Shai even after he'd offered to give them back the notebook, and then Ling had been too angry to stay at his hiding spot. He'd attacked the three men, took the notebook from Shai's pocket, and thought he'd make it to Roundhouse Avenue, where some of the military men had been strategically placed late this night.

But the explosion had been unexpected. And he couldn't leave the girl behind. She was the only one alive when he came to where the explosion had taken place. Three of the dead had been members of the Dealers Guild, including their leader. The others had been innocent, like this girl, caught up in the street ruckus. And now Greed was on the verge of exposure, with the remaining three dealers hot on his heels.

He looked down. He didn't even know her name.

"It's okay," he said. Lied, more like it. Her arm was _severed_. There was nothing okay about that. "I'll keep you safe, don't worry."

He only realized the croaking, dry sound he was hearing was her voice, when he felt her breath against his cheek.

"Leave me."

He chuckled though it wasn't funny. "Ha ha. For someone bleeding to death, you've got a sure sense of humour."

"Please, leave me. You have to go."

He ignored her. He wasn't about to leave someone who needed help, someone who suffered because of his carelessness. There had been no helping the others, but he'd seen her, struggling against the weight of a crushed, upturned vehicle, and unfortunately pulling her out meant leaving behind an arm. Despite that, she could still live. She still had a chance.

"What's your name?" he asked, but if he did so out of a sad attempt to pacify his racing heart or to stop her from passing out – maybe both, since he'd always wanted too much – he did not know. She stayed quiet, observing his face for a moment, a puzzled look coming over hers. Ling realized this was the first time she'd seen it. But she didn't say anything, and after a while, she just looked away.

_Well, duh. _She wouldn't say her name. She'd already lost an arm, why would she want to get further involved?

"Don't you have family?" he asked. "What would happen to them if you died today?"

Her eyes gained a brief spark, as if half remembering something important, but she still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Just think of them," he continued. "You won't be dying for them today."

She'd already closed her eyes. Not a good sign. Ling braced himself, and stood back up, muscles protesting against the cold. If he could just get back up, Mei might still be waiting at Roundhouse Avenue with Hawkeye, but they'd attract too much attention. Their smell alone might make anyone reluctant to help them. They were already far from the financial district, so telling someone they were innocent passersby who got injured might seem a little incredulous.

And he couldn't afford it. People would ask for his name. He'd already lost his mask. His father had never been one to mind him, but he would wonder what Ling was doing there at the same time the document was stolen and the clients got killed. How was he going to get help for this girl?

He's just going to have to leave her with someone he could trust while he made the slip. He'd have to call for Hawkeye to discreetly collect the girl, make a story as to why an injured girl had been loitering in the Amestrian sewers for an hour, and they could both be saved.

Ling placed the girl down, trying to get her comfortably settled against the wall, but this time she insisted on standing on her feet. Well, at least this was a tough one he got caught up with. All the more reason she wouldn't die, he told himself. He shook his pack off from his shoulders, opened it and dug around for a cellphone. Hopefully at least one of them was still good, even after the small dip in the water. There wasn't any signal, however, where they were standing.

"Stay here," he told her, though he doubted she could have moved far even if she decided, for some unfathomable reason, to run away from him. "I'm going to get you some help."

"Aren't you going to run away? They could still be looking for you," she rasped.

Sucks that the person who had to be around to help her was the one the thugs had been after.

He didn't know where the explosion came from. It wasn't in the plan, and Ling's team didn't bring the kind of equipment required for that kind of destruction. But half the members of the Dealers Guild died in it. Did someone else want them dead? Or perhaps his father...

An explosion was not his father's usual style. He usually kept things on the low, out of the radar of the State Military, but even when things got sticky, his top-notch lawyer could pluck him out of any jar, and really, the hardest thing about XYZ Ltd. was that it was actually _legal_. Was it pleasant? Nope. Was it corrupted? Yep. But it was legal. It was actually really difficult to get his father thrown in jail. Something Ling was just learning.

Who would take the blame for the bomb now? Ling shuddered to think about it.

"If they were still after me, we couldn't have stopped," he said, which was true. "I think they gave up. At least, I think they've stopped chasing us. They could be waiting, trying to sniff me out. But don't you worry about me. I'll slip through this."

Ling found another manhole with a few small holes. He positioned himself near it, and luckily, the signal bar increased a bit from nothing. He dialed Hawkeye's number, and she sounded as calm as she normally was when she answered. Ling didn't know how she could keep up such composure.

"Emergency," he told her.

"I heard about the explosion. Last time you had called me about an emergency, you asked where you can find the nearest restaurant that sells maki sushi." He heard her sigh. "This was not what I expected."

"Believe me, none of us were expecting _this_." He paused, looking back at the girl. "Look, I need a big favour."

The lieutenant came after a few minutes. Ling hoisted the injured girl over his shoulder and emerged from the nearest man-hole he could find close to where Riza had parked. He laid her down in Riza's car.

"Who's this?" she asked. "We can't allow anyone else to get involved."

"She was still alive after the explosion," Ling explained. "I couldn't just leave her behind."

Riza still looked reluctant, but she didn't protest. "Where's Shai?"

Ling gulped. "He's gone." Easy-going, happy Shai. He'd been a very eager volunteer. Ling hadn't even known him a year, but the boy had quick hands and nothing else to look forward to in life. His family had been financially crippled by Ling's father's business, and he wanted to at least to dip his toes in some revenge.

"You were supposed to hide!"

"I know! But..." Ling pulled the small notebook from his pocket. "We were so close. Here, have that. Maybe there'd be evidence of the Guild's connection with my father in there. All of their contracts are supposed to be outlined in detail there."

Riza took it. "I'll hand it over to Mustang. Even if your father isn't mentioned, this would still provide us with their other transactions. It will be helpful." And before she drove away, she gave him a sad smile. "Thank you."

"Make sure the girl gets the help she needs," Ling reminded her.

"The best."

-o-

_2 Years Later_

Lan Fan swirled her straw in the plastic cup, trying to hone in on one of the tapioca balls at the bottom. When her straw managed to trap one, she sipped it up happily. She tried lichee bubble tea this time, on her persistent mission to fill up the nine stamps on her Tealicious card. The reward was a plastic water bottle, not much, but why not enjoy her time? Bubble tea was an inexpensive indulgence, something she could actually afford, and at least the water bottle was free. She could always use more free things in her life.

"Why not try a real drink?" A voice beside her called, and she looked to her left where the bartender was pouring a glass of whatever alcoholic beverage a customer had ordered. Lan Fan was sitting at the corner of the night club, near a small, less crowded bar. Nobody had bothered her all night, but she was basically a walking sign of "Not Interested," with her baggy sweater, even baggier sweatpants, and the set of unmusical bones in her body. She wasn't here to have fun. She was on duty.

"I can't," she told the bartender, a short, middle-aged man who looked slightly out of place in a night club frequented by college students from the community school down the block. She lifted a fancy phone provided by her client earlier that night. "I'm supposed to get them home safely tonight. Have to remain sober."

"Ah," the man smiled not unkindly, though he must have guessed why she held up a phone, rather than a set of car keys. "Smart. Though your friends should have called you over when they're done. You don't look like you're enjoying your time here at all, and a young person like you looks like you could use your time doing other things."

She shrugged, looking out over the dance floor, trying to pick out the trio of redheads she was assigned to watch. The truth was that she was hired to eliminate any trouble that crops up, or prevent them in the first place. Mr. and Mrs. Gries were protective of their daughters, and woe was the person who'd scratch their precious little heads. One of the girls – Hannah, maybe, or Roxanna, Lan Fan couldn't quite get their names right – was swaying out of beat.

"I don't think they'd be sober enough to have called me," she responded.

The man nodded sympathetically. "Well, liquor isn't all that we sell. If you're still craving some tea after that, you're welcome to choose from our wide collections."

Lan Fan nodded, and pretended she didn't see his lingering look at the shapeless sleeve of her sweater.

She didn't mind doing this. It was good money. Usually she charged an hourly rate, depending on the type of job and who she was supposed to look after. If anything dangerous came up, she reserved a right to charge an additional fee for taking care of it. Normally her clients tended to be the ones who needed guarding, but tonight was different. The ones paying her were the Grieses, not their daughters. If something were to happen, she'd need proof of the incident to be able to charge the extra fees. It didn't look like the three girls would be credible witnesses, not in their state. She'd just have to be extra careful.

Lan Fan finished her bubble tea, and waited until the hands on her watch signaled 1:30. Then, as much as she hated to mingle in the crowd, she pushed her way between gyrating bodies to where the Gries girls were dancing. One of them – Roxana or Savannah, she long ago gave up trying to figure out which – gladly reached out for her, looking quite relieved.

"My sisters didn't want to go yet," she yelled, over the loud, pumping music. Lan Fan blinked her eyes against the flashing lights. "Maybe you can convince them."

It was easy to see where one of the sisters were; only several dance steps away, her bright red hair was unmistakeable. Lan Fan latched her only arm around the girl's shoulders, and steadily led her away.

"Hey!" she yelled. Lan Fan rolled her eyes.

"Time to go, Roxana."

"It's Anna!"

"Alright, Anna. It's 1:30. Your parents are waiting. I'll get in trouble if I don't bring you back on time."

One of the men who were dancing with Anna asserted himself right on her path. A good foot taller than her, it was unlikely that Lan Fan could slip gracefully around him, especially with Anna in tow, and a dozen bodies cramping up the space. She sighed. She wasn't really supposed to make trouble. If she started something, her clients would think that she did it on purpose so she could charge her extra fees. Nope, if Lan Fan was going to get any more clients, she wanted to be as honest as possible in how she handled her jobs.

"Hey, she and her sisters need to go home," she said, her voice steady and unyielding, but non-threatening. Gosh, how she hated having to talk down people like this. She wasn't paid to be a kindergarten teacher handling infants prone to temper tantrums. She was a bodyguard!

"Not if I say they're not," the man said, his words a little more than just slightly slurred. Lan Fan rolled her eyes. Did drunk people really had a penchant to sound like comic book characters?

"Look, I don't want trouble," Lan Fan said, though how much the guy understood by the way he was swaying, she couldn't tell. She tried to circumnavigate him, but a few other people, boys and girls, blocked her way.

This was going to give her a headache.

"Savannah, get your other sister and wait outside," Lan Fan called to the younger Gries daughter, who only pouted and said that she was Roxana.

"You want a taste of my knuckle sandwich, girly?" again, it was the man imposing his six-feet self in their way.

"Are you kidding me?" Lan Fan said. "You got that line straight out of a movie!" She began inching her way forward, dragging Anna along with her. The poor girl was staring at the disco lights above, humming the rap out of tune. "Please move." Ugh, someone tell her she wasn't going to have to grovel.

He didn't budge. Lan Fan kept her head low, trying to fight the instinct to just kick his feet from underneath him, and scathe her way out of the club. Gosh, it would be much easier that way. Perhaps, she could. That would help her a lot, and she didn't need to charge the fee if _she_ was giving herself _less_ trouble.

But the consequences could be ugly, and she didn't want to be the instigator of any legal breaches.

She tried to force her way around him, but he grabbed her by her shirt and shoved her back. Good. As long as he made the first move. She tried again, and this time he shoved her harder. Lan Fan maintained her balance, but Anna went sprawling over the dance floor. Quick as lightning, Lan Fan bent to swipe Anna's phone from her pocket, took a quick picture of the girl reclining on the floor, and flashed a shot at the man blocking their way.

Proof. It was all she needed.

She bent down on one knee and swept her other leg around, bringing three of the drunks down to their posteriors. The surrounding dancers finally stopped their twerking to look down at what was going on. One of the man's friends was now red-faced and growling, surely pissed – and embarrassed – that a young, one-armed girl had taken down his pals. They never learn, did they? Lan Fan had been in similar fights the past few years, and it had always been the same reaction. What would it take for people to stop associating size with strength and skills?

Red-faced boy tried to swipe a punch, which Lan Fan easily caught; she twisted his arm around his back, and motioned for Anna to stand up.

"Come on," she nodded her head toward the exit. "We're wasting our time. Your parents would be angry."

Anna pushed her bouncy hair out of her face, as if trying to ascertain that she really saw what she just saw. It didn't matter. Come tomorrow morning, none of the girls, except perhaps for Roxana – or was it Savannah? – would remember that there'd been trouble in the club at all. They probably wouldn't even remember her.

Lan Fan only realized that she was still twisting Red-faced-boy's arm when he let out a nasally yowl. She released him just in time as Anna stumbled in her arm, and she led the girl out of the club.

The cool air hit her hard, a stark contrast against the humid, sweaty atmosphere of the club. She could still taste lichee in her mouth, and the caramel flavouring of the tapioca. If there were no other incidents, it had been a rather easy night.

Lan Fan had called the cab before collecting the girls from the dance floor, and she could see it waiting by the curb. She packed the girls into it. She didn't have a car of her own, at least not at the moment. It was being repaired; the modifications for one-armed driving was quite expensive and difficult to maintain. And even if it had been available, she doubted that the Grieses, whose yearly income was surely six-figures, would allow their daughters to be seen in a run-down, patchwork of metal.

It was about an hour ride to the mansion. When they rolled into the driveway, she helped the girls exit and maneuver their way to the front door, though really it was mostly Anna who was tipsily struggling along, even though her stilettos were dangling from her fingers, and she was barefoot on the cobblestones. Savannah, the sister she hadn't seen much at the club still oozed energy and radiance.

When Roxana unlocked the door, the Grieses came excitedly to greet them.

_Heh, they stayed up to wait for their daughters?_ That was in a way quite endearing, but also a little overbearing, Lan Fan thought. What would she think if her grandfather hovered over her every outings? But then again, it was unlikely he'd catch her coming home at midnight drunk from a club.

Well... it was more likely he'd catch her coming home at midnight with one arm less and no explanation to boot. She refused to wonder which one was worse, because really, when it came down to it, those two things couldn't be compared at all.

Mr. Gries was a portly, balding man with red cheeks and an easy smile, that belied a steel core. The Grieses didn't get to where they were by smiling at strangers.

"Now how much would it be?" He took out his cheque book from the inside of his pyjamas – eh, did they sleep on money too? "I distinctly remember your hourly rate to be 50 sens. That would total 200 sens for the night, unless of course... there have been 'incidents', as you call them." His pen hovered over the cheque pad.

Lan Fan took out Anna's phone, which she had slipped into her sweatpants' pocket during the fight, and navigated it to the stock of photos.

"Only one, sir." She handed him the picture she took of Anna on the floor, and the other of the obviously antagonistic young man hovering over them both.

Mrs. Gries peered at the pictures through her glasses. "Hmm... seems a bit nasty to me." Then she gave Lan Fan a once-over, before pursing her lip. "Though I don't see why he'd be a problem for _you_, if you really are as good as they say. As _you_ say."

The Grieses had hired her through word of mouth; most of Lan Fan's clients came to her that way. She hadn't made a reputation yet to have so many offers at her beck and call, nor did she think it would be a good idea. To be known and popular... well, it worked quite ironically within her field. She'd be the first on the elimination list of any jerk with a grudge.

"No, it wasn't that bad. So let's say an extra two hundred." Lan Fan replied, glad to have had the first chance to name the price. She rarely got the advantage when her clients named it first.

"A hundred," Mr. Gries replied promptly.

"A hundred fifty."

The Grieses gave each other a look. Lan Fan straightened her stance, shoulders rolling back to assert her height, though she was only as tall as Mrs. Gries. Two hundred was a bargain already. And looking at that fancy door knocker, Lan Fan knew that the Grieses could afford it; wouldn't hurt them one bit if she guessed right.

"Alright," Mr. Gries finally said, signing the cheque and handing it over to her. Lan Fan gave a small smile, and nodded her head appreciatively.

"Thank you," she said. "It was nice working for you and the girls."

They only smiled back at her, and Lan Fan had a distinct notion that they knew they'd gotten away cheaply. She just bit her lip, and turned to go.

"Oh wait!" Mrs. Gries called out, and when Lan Fan turned around, a big cardboard box was shoved in her way.

"Some left-over pizza," she said, opening the box to reveal one still whole pizza, greasy with melted cheese, but looking quite the deluxe that it was. Lan Fan couldn't help but smile; normally, it might irk her to know how others tended to see her as a charity case, but she rarely refused an opportunity for something free if it came knocking on the door. "You look like you could gain a pound."

"Thank you," she said again, and meant it. She tucked the box between her arm and her hip, and started the twenty minute walk to the nearest public transit station. It would take her yet another two hours to get home, but she'd rather lose the three sens, than spend the entire hundred fifty bonus fee on a cab. She didn't mind. At least for the rest of the day, she and her grandfather wouldn't have to worry about what to eat.

-o-

"How about a boys' night out?"

"You know my brother kinda hates you, right?" Al's soft-toned voice came through the receiver, a little chuckle following the reminder.

"Then let's not bring him!" Ling suggested. "He's a party-pooper anyway."

"He'll never forgive me for ditching him."

Ling sighed, shuffling through the papers stacked on his desk. He'd foregone another night of sleep in favour of a a sudden hit of inspired planning. His mother sternly told him to turn the other cheek for now and get a life, _his_ own life, but that was a little difficult, given everything that had happened, everything that he knew. She knew too. He wondered how she could sleep knowing she hadn't done anything about it.

Well, maybe she was. But she was a lot more patient than him, that was for certain.

"Look, I need a sounding board for ideas."

There was a pause on the other side, and he could almost feel Al slowing down his walk to the University.

"Ideas, Ling?"

"_Ideas_."

"This isn't another Greed is it?"

"And what if it is?"

He heard an obvious, exasperated sigh. "I don't even understand why you call it Greed!"

"It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Ling asked, though really he had often debated whether the operation was named after his father or himself. Perhaps both... or perhaps he really just had an affinity for the word, if one could, hypothetically, gain affinities for words.

"I don't know," Alphonse sounded hesitant. "Last time didn't work out so well."

"So we're just going to give up? That doesn't sound like an Elric _at all._" Ling lifted one of the papers, a blueprint of his father's new office. He didn't know yet what use it would be to him since his father tended to conduct business in places other than the office itself, but still. An office bounded to have valuables stowed away in there somewhere, and with the plan still in shabby frameworks, he didn't know what he'd ended up needing.

"Besides, even if Dad's business is still in tact, it didn't mean that the last mission had been a complete failure. We delivered the Dealers Guild's documents to Mustang, so at least that's–" he counted his fingers off, "eight cases solved." The Dealers Guild hadn't actually been a guild. It had been a name of an underground gang of drug dealers, who catered specifically to individuals of influence. Super stars, politicians, even doctors and lawyers... a dozen had been charged of the purchase and possession of illegal drugs after Mustang and his team had cracked the code.

The leader of the gang had a habit of writing down their dealings in a small pocket notebook. It had been coded, of course, but all the transactions were still aggregated into less than two hundred pages of pulp, an easy evidence if one could obtain it.

That notebook had been The Collateral.

"But all the members of the Dealers Guild were already dead," Alphonse reminded him.

That was right. Only those who had collaborated with the Guild had faced the law; none of the actual members had the opportunity to be tried. Ling remembered when he'd assumed that the remaining members, those who did not perish in the explosion, were laying low, trying to wait him out from the sewers. But after he'd gone up, later he found from Hawkeye that they'd been shot dead. None of the members had lived past that night.

There was also one person he never found again, but he tried to keep her out of his mind nowadays.

Ling pulled the elastic bounding his hair, and remade his pony-tail.

"It doesn't matter. We still made things better," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. Because honestly, if they didn't, he didn't know how he was going to sleep knowing he was just as much of a monster as his father was.

Alphonse quickly bid him farewell as he approached his classroom. Ling heard the lingering angry honk of a car, before the sounds were cut off from his phone. Putting it down, he tucked the papers away in the drawers of his desk, but not before catching the insignia on the blueprint he'd been inspecting.

XYZ Ltd.

It was one of the richest money-lending companies in the continent, with clients hailing from Western Amestris all the way to the satellite nations east of Xing. It was also universally dubbed as 7-11; borrow 7 sens now, owe 11 sens by the end of the month. In exchange for the high interests, clients could borrow money whenever they wanted, however they wanted it. No questions asked. It was a gift and a curse for anyone desperate for money. Even the _government _borrowed money from it. It sounded well-meaning enough, and Ling had been fooled for the first decade of his life too.

But it was also one of the most corrupt companies in the world. The lynchpin of each agreement was a thing called The Collateral. Very important. Until the money and the interest could all be paid in full, his father required the client to provide him something that could ensure the loyalty of the payments. From Ling's research on his father's company, collaterals had ranged from precious family heirlooms, to family members themselves. It ground his gears.

Nobody else batted an eyelash. All the nasty stuff were swept under the carpet thanks to the government's involvement, and nobody was the wiser for it.

Ling wanted the Guild's collateral, because he'd assumed that their agreement with his father would be there. He'd been wrong. And he missed his chance to reveal to the world exactly what kind of business his father was running.

He stalked out of the study, and went to his bedroom, hopping on to bed with his laptop. Despite what Alphonse had said, Ling knew that Edward didn't hate him. No, they were friends, for goodness' sake! Grudging ones, but friends nonetheless, and the grudge part was not mutual anyway; only Ed carried it. Why, their last fight had only been about his height! Not much to cry about, if anyone asked Ling.

He fired up his email and sent a quick message to Ed.

_'Needing a kind, supportive buddy right now,'_ he wrote. Well, what he really needed was a co-mastermind, but he doubted he'd find anyone up that alley. He'd settle for a passive consultant, or maybe anyone with a business streak. Either way, what he needed was someone knowledgeable in self-defense, with more than a variety of tricks up their sleeves. _'Someone who'd stick around 24/7.' _This requirement was effective immediately, and he'd need to know that there was a potential availability. Especially when they got around to the final stages of his plan.

_'And no, not you. Just asking for a rec.'_

Sure, he and Ed had their differences. But Ling still trusted him enough to know that Ed wouldn't send someone who'd stick a knife in his neck while he slept.

-o-

Lan Fan stayed in bed until ten in the morning, though she did get up at six to administer her grandfather's medicine. She slept for only a couple of hours, but she didn't feel sleepy anymore. However, the comforts of her old, ratty blanket were a guilty pleasure of hers, and they coaxed her back to dawdle on her mattress.

She picked up the small, clear bottle of medicine she kept in her small cabinet. They were down to the last few drops of the red, gooey stuff. Perhaps it'd last till the end of the week. She had money to purchase another bottle, but each one lasted only a month at best. If her grandfather was under the weather more than usual, it lasted even less than that.

And this crap was expensive.

Truth be told, Lan Fan's bodyguarding brought in decent money; they could have lived comfortably, still on the humble side perhaps if she decided to go to school, but with the medicine, they were barely scraping by. It wasn't even her life, however, that she'd come to lament.

She remembered Fu as a lithe, agile man, not burly or big, but packed and dense. He wasn't like a mountain, not in the way most people would think of warriors, but rather, like the wind during a typhoon. It was sometimes still difficult for her to accept that he was the same man as the shriveled up shell on the bed, resembling more a prune than any force of nature. That, more than anything, was worth lamenting about.

She missed her grandfather, their times of greeting the dawn with a quick martial arts lesson, their after-dinner walks in the park. He'd been a strict, guiding hand while she was growing up, and though he could use one more tender bone in his body, he'd never been someone to fear. At least, she'd never had.

Lan Fan jumped out of her bed, carefully replacing the bottle back in the cabinet. She needed a job. Several jobs. Or maybe one big one, but those hardly came her way.

She made her way to the front door of their apartment, where a few hours earlier she heard the sound of mail crashing through the slot. The facsimile, however, had been quiet for a few days. She and Grandpa lagged a little bit when it came to new technology, but she made do. She even managed to get a cellphone last year; it wasn't smart, but hey, it wasn't dumb either.

Lan Fan shuffled through the envelopes and folded brochures, hoping for any sign of work. She usually made connections to clients through The Auto-Mail, a large, underground network of workers, who helped each other find... _things_. Various things. For most, it was jobs. Once a person had entered the network, they could make regular requests, and lo and behold, information and sources came spilling in the mail.

She tried to space out her jobs appropriately, the high-paying ones from rich clients few and far between, while the more modest clients filling in the rest of the time. She'd only worked with a very wealthy client once, and saying that she didn't like it much could be considered an understatement. She made sure her prices were fair, adjusting them frequently, so that even those who wouldn't normally be able to hire a bodyguard could, and that she'd earn even a little bit.

She found a small note from Paninya, a girl she knew who also used the Auto-Mail network to find odd jobs.

_'I got a big one for you! Give me a call when you get the chance.'_

Paninya. This better not be arsony. Though really, it was a tough time to be picky.

She snapped her flip phone open, and dialed the number. She met Paninya a few years ago when she was still new to Auto-Mail. The girl had specialized outwardly as a construction worker, fixing roofs, touching up skyscrapers... covertly, she specialized (even better) at theft.

"Hey! About time you called," Paninya said, even before Lan Fan managed to get a hello in.

"What's this about?" Lan Fan asked, getting to the point. "Last time you told me about a job, you conveniently forgot to mention that the person I was going to be guarding would be the person _you're_ stealing from!"

"Don't be sore! Stealing it without you there would have been more like a free giveaway!" Paninya insisted, sounding excited by the mere memories of it. "And trust me, I think this one would be good."

"What makes you say that?" Lan Fan folded her legs underneath her as she slouched down on the couch. She pinched the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could take a slice of the pizza from the box that Mrs. Gries had given the night before. She savoured the chewy cheese and the spicy meat. It was so good, even though it was cold.

"Well, for one thing, the employer is young."

"...young?"

"But he's got money, not to worry! I know that's your top priority."

"When and where?"

"Today actually. High Park, Dublith."

Today? Paninya's letter came only a few hours ago, judging by the stamp, and she was never the type to let a request lag for long if there was a response available. Someone seemed desperate.

"This isn't some fake stunt, is it? I'm having fishy feelings," Lan Fan admitted.

"Oh, absolutely not!" Paninya said. "My sources had been good. I didn't have direct contact with the client, but he appears to be a friend of a friend of mine. And this friend's on sweet terms with one of the best Auto-Mail admins out there, so if legit is what you're worried about, don't be. Trust me, this kiddo doesn't consider just about anyone his pal, so for him to be reccing the boy you're gonna work for, well I think it's a pretty solid thing."

Lan Fan sighed. To be honest, she felt like this with every job she took up; the initial paranoia, the mistrust. Shady people were just everywhere. Who knew where they'd pop up? She wasn't going to lose her remaining arm.

But wasn't she just thinking about getting a job quickly a few moments before? This could be a big break. Even if it wasn't, every little cent counted. And if the employer was young, perhaps he'd be a little more naïve. If she was lucky, he'd be generous. She was determined to get more than a box of pizza this time around.

"I'll do it."

Paninya gave her the address of the meeting place. It was quite far, in a high-end district that Lan Fan had rarely frequented. It was a long way away, about an hour from the very last station of the public transit, and her car still wasn't fixed. She wondered if she could get the guy to pay her taxi cab to and from the meeting.

Before leaving, she tended her grandfather again. He seemed a little better this time around, waking when she adjusted the towel on his forehead. She brought the box of pizza near him, just in case he wanted to try a little bit, but she also prepared soft-foods and soup, settling them on the bedside table.

"I think I caught a big one this time, Grandpa," she told him. "I'll be back tonight and I'll tell you all about it."

The bus and taxi cab ride was as uneventful as she'd expected. But when the taxi deposited her on the manicured lawn of a rather handsome residence, Lan Fan began to feel apprehensive. Unconsciously, her hand patted the dangling sleeve on her left; she'd worn only a simple blouse and jeans. She always made sure she had a routine ready for skills demonstration, but for some people, first impressions could be very important.

She sighed. Nothing she could do about that now; it wasn't like she could run to the nearest mall and purchase a new outfit. She'd be late _and_ she'd waste money. Money that could go to the Red Stone.

Paninya's instructions told her that her employer would be waiting for her in a large study near the back of the house. Lan Fan wouldn't miss it, she said; it was adjacent to a long, rounded hallway, behind two floor-to-ceiling heavy oak doors. Lan Fan felt uncomfortable navigating someone else's home by herself, feeling as if she was an intruder. What did it say about an employer who wouldn't even meet their prospective hire by the door? Was he so self-important that he couldn't leave his study?

Sighing for the second time since arriving, Lan Fan steeled herself. Who cared what kind of personality he had? She'd watch his back, maybe knock out a couple of people, and then get paid. That was all there was to it. If he never left his study, all the better. It was always easier to defend indoor enthusiasts.

She found the designated room, and took a moment to compose herself. It was going to be fine.

Lan Fan pushed the door open and went inside. She only had a moment's opportunity to observe the room, when the door clicked shut behind her, and the room dimmed to barely visible.

Her first instinct was to try and smash the door down, but she'd be leaving herself wide open to what seemed like, on her only glance, a thirty feet by thirty feet curved room. That was too much. She flattened her back by the door, and listened, slowing her breath down to five or six breaths a minute, trying to sense what was in store for her. The room wasn't completely dark. It just mimicked an unlit room in the middle of the night, though where the small amount of light was coming from, she couldn't tell.

She sensed the presence before she saw him or heard him. He came lunging from the right, and she had just enough time to raise her arm to block. She heard a soft, amused chuckle, before she launched herself away from the doorway. Now that she'd found her opponent, there was no use in staying against the door, where she was even more likely to be pushed into a corner.

The figure in front of her was only slightly taller than her, lean and graceful. He didn't appear too imposing, but she out of all people, knew that appearance was never indicative of skills.

And he was damn fast.

In a split second, she found herself blocking his multi-angled attacks, quick but powerful jabs aiming at pressure points. She was swift enough to block them, and multiple times she found herself providing her own set of offensives. When she thought she found an opening, she tried lunging for his neck, but he spun like a weasel out of her grasp, grabbing a loose pile of sheets on a desk and throwing it up between them.

_Is he trying to distract me_? A pile of paper was a little short-sighted.

Lan Fan then grabbed a lamp on the same desk, and once again heard the amused chuckle, louder this time, and a startled "Woah, that's expensive!" as she swung it around to get to him. Something about his voice nagged at the back of her mind. He shoved her attempts aside, and Lan Fan felt a leg hook against hers. He toppled her to the ground, where she dropped the lamp. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and used his momentum to continue the roll, sending him to the air with her feet. She heard him land on the floor above her head, before she summersaulted, locking him below her with her knees to either side of his waist. With her only hand, she pushed him against the floor, where he looked up at her with a small smile on his lips.

Then the smile vanished.

"_You,_" he said.

And she realized where she'd heard the voice before.

Well... she shouldn't have worried about first impressions. Seemed a little too late for those.

-o-

The girl above him propelled herself up and backwards, almost as if bitten. The lights came back on full power, the three minutes he'd allotted for her test finally up. He blinked, as the memory of her ashen and bloody and grime-stained face flashed in his mind, then the sudden guilt. He clambered to his feet, brushing himself off. For the first time since he could remember, he was quite speechless.

The girl stared back at him, wide-eyed. It was difficult to read her expression, but whatever it was reflecting on her face – surprise, anxiety – it was obvious she didn't want to be there. He hadn't recognized her at first. Not at all. Given the fact that during the only time they'd spent, she'd been bloody and disheveled, it wasn't that surprising. Now, she stood there looking like a normal teenager.

As normal as teenagers went with one arm.

He cleared his throat. "Well," he began, still trying to let his brain catch up. "You're certainly fit for the job."

Her eyes went even bigger. "_You're_ my employer?"

"The name's Ling Yao. I told Ed not to release my name, because... you'll find some stuff about me online, and I sort of wanted a clean slate." He cleared his throat again. "Though I see it's too late for that."

She began shaking her head as she started to move back towards the door. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't accept this job." Then she tucked her chin down, opening the door.

"Wait!" Ling rushed after her, grabbing her by her arm. "Hold on! You haven't heard my proposition yet." She stopped and looked back at him.

"I don't think it's a wise idea that I work for you."

"Why not?" he persisted. "Look, name your price. I promise I'll deliver."

Lan Fan. Ed relayed her name to him just a couple of hours ago. So _she_ was Lan Fan. He'd searched for the sewer-girl for years. He wanted, in some way, in _any_ way, to make up for what happened to her.

"Sorry," she said, and she looked like she meant it. Seemed like she had actually been looking forward to the job. "I truly am, but I think you should find someone else."

"Why?" he asked, but he knew why. "Look, I know you blame me for... for _that_." He pointed at her lifeless left sleeve. "But please. I never got a chance to explain. I never even got a chance to help you."

"Help me?" she interrupted. "You saved my life!"

"No, you don't understand!" He took the cuff of the sleeve, making her flinch, but at least she didn't remove herself from his hold. "This would have never happened if it weren't for me."

She frowned. "You think that explosion was your fault?"

He nodded.

"How?"

Ling sighed and released her. "Look. It has to do with the job offer. I can't tell you if you're not taking the job."

Lan Fan blinked at him, taking a moment to evaluate her situation. Then she nodded. "Right. It's only fair. You don't have to tell me. I'm leaving." She went out to the hallway.

"A million!" he called out to her.

That stopped her dead in her tracks. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned back to him. "A million what?"

"A million sens. That's my base offer for your services."

She looked at him as if he'd thrown up a pink unicorn. "A _million_?"

"And I can get you prosthesis," he added. "It might be helpful in your line of work."

"The absence of my left arm had never hindered me," she said and there was a small glint of pride behind the frown she sent him.

"No, I don't think so," Ling admitted. Their fight minutes ago definitely proved that. "But just say the word, and I will get you hooked up with a really good doctor. I know this guy, Dr. Marcoh, and he's so kind and generous he'd do any kind of work, sometimes even for free. Look, actually, you don't even have to take the job for this. Let me do this for you!"

"You don't owe me anything," she said, and she squared her shoulders, looking at him intently. "You already saved my life. I don't know why you think that whole thing was your fault, but if it makes you feel better, I don't blame you. I never did. You don't have to do me favours."

"So what you're saying," Ling began again. "Is that we're on a clean slate."

"Clean."

"Then you'd understand that I'm still interested in hiring you, because regardless of explosions and sewage-trips and whatnot, I can still use someone with your skill set."

"You did pretty well yourself back there," she said, nodding in the direction of the circular study.

"Yes, but there's an advantage of having someone watch your back for you. It's not like I can defend myself while I'm eating or while I'm in the bathroom–"

"You want me to defend you while you're in the bathroom?" she asked, eyes suspicious and incredulous.

Ling sighed. He hadn't imagined that it would be this difficult to bargain with a potential employee, especially when he hadn't even begun relating the job description. He'd anticipated some hesitations against the job, because gee... it wasn't even really legal (almost, they'd slip by), which was why he couldn't really reveal any information unless Lan Fan first agreed to take him up.

"How about two million?" he suggested.

"I don't want that much money," she said. Ling expected that. When he first got the Elric brothers on board with Operation Greed, they hadn't wanted his money either.

"How about an all you can eat buffet?" he added, sweetening his tone. "Which part of Xing did you hail from? You look like you could have been from the southwest–"

"Tong Hua actually," she interjected. "Satellite state."

"Perfect! I know just the place!"

"I'm tempted, but no."

"How about my first kiss?" he leaned towards her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. She made a face. Clearly she wasn't impressed, and Ling pulled back, scratching his brain for more bribes.

"Look," she began, her right hand reaching out to play with her left sleeve. "All I need to know right now is for how long it would be and how risky it is."

Ling whistled. At least she was contemplating about it now. "I need a bodyguard 24/7, effective immediately, which means if you agree to it, you'll be starting right now. It could take as long as one to two months. As for risks... right now that is very difficult to calculate, because the job is still in its planning stages. Part of your job is to help me plan. So if you agree to work for me, you'd also get to determine some of the risks you can take. Though if you want a rough estimate, it could mean anything from a few scratches to a lifetime in prison to a few dead."

Lan Fan bit her lip, clearly weighing her options.

"I provide food and accommodations," he continued. "You'll need to live here with me and Mom, and if I go anywhere you have to come with me. That mostly means school and the occasional restaurant. And of course, trips to... places related to the job. If you're worried about family, let me know and I'll set them up somewhere safe."

"Accessible?"

"Anytime."

She began to nod appreciatively. Ling gave her a few minutes to make up her mind. If he started to push more reasons on her, she'll just sense his desperation and might turn him down.

Finally, she spoke. "My grandfather needs medical attention."

"I can provide that too."

She nodded. "Okay. I'll do it."

He smiled. He knew he could rely on Ed!

"Alright, come this way," he said, walking briskly down the hallway. "To start this all off, you need to know about my family. You might know my father as Henry Chu."

"_The_ Henry Chu?" she exclaimed, in sync with his steps. "Of 7-11?"

Ling laughed. "That's right. Which is why I didn't want my name revealed right away. I didn't want my father influencing your decision to come.

"You might say that I have... some qualms about 7-11 that I intend to fix. The unfriendliness of their business practices to humanitarian laws, for one thing. My father gets away with a ton of crap that normal people wouldn't. With many politicians as some of his biggest clients, it's in the interest of the government to keep his dealings on the down low. Remember the weapons used during the Sanitary Movement? Funded by my Dad. Now, you want to know about the explosion?" he looked back at her, and she gave him a resolute nod.

"A couple of years ago, I made a plan to reveal the kind of business my father engages in. The first step was to taint the name of his business by showing he was funding illegal drug imports. The Dealers Guild was one of the largest groups in the business of illegal drug trade, and they catered to some of the most trusted and adored names in pop culture.

"Now my father never gives money away without insurance. He calls this The Collateral. He agreed to loan five million sens to the Dealers Guild in exchange for a list of all their transactions with anyone who had ever conducted business with them, drug purchases or otherwise. This was easy, because the guild had a list anyway. All I had to do, at least I thought at the time, was to steal this book, prove that my father had transacted with them, and boom, down goes 7-11.

"It was myopic," he said, pausing to open the door to his bedroom, remembering Shai's blank eyes. She stopped at the doorway, however, and began to eye his bed with obvious precaution.

"What?" he asked. "I have a secret study on the other side."

"Mhmm," she grunted and eyed him cautiously, but didn't take a step in.

"Hey, I'm no lech!" he put his hands up in mock surrender. "I swear! I've only been on like two dates." She gave him an expressive look that could have said either _I can see why_, or _Then you must be desperate._

"My mother's coming in a few minutes," he assured her. "And I promise you, she'd slap me inside and out if I do anything that is remotely... unprogressive."

"Your mother..." Lan Fan began. "She lets you interfere with her husband's business?"

"Oh, my father is not her husband. Not anymore. And of course she lets me. Some of the ideas had been hers actually, though she'd never lift a finger herself."

Lan Fan frowned at this, surely thinking that his familial unit was quite strange. Sometimes he thought so too. She finally went in, and he led her to the walk-in closet sitting at the opposite side of the room.

"Anyway, so what happened was that on the night they were going to trade The Collateral with the five million sens, I installed someone to intercept the notebook."

"Why couldn't you have stolen the notebook before they were to meet with your father?" she asked, as Ling moved a shelf out of the way, revealing another passage from inside the closet.

"It's not easy to lure out the Guild. Less so to lure them out _and_ have the notebook out in the open. I figured I'd let my father do that job for me, but it turned out to be the fatal mistake. See, after the notebook was stolen, my father didn't see any point in doing business with them anymore. The Collateral was gone. The Guild had dispersed to try and catch Shai. The entire deal was in a state of disarray, and my father thought his business and reputation was on the line."

"So he had them killed?"

Ling paused. "Yes, at least, that's the most logical thing I can come up with to explain the events. Half the guild died when the bomb went off. And remember those men who were chasing us?"

Lan Fan nodded grimly.

"They were the other half of the Guild. But after I gave you to Hawkeye, I received news that they too were dead."

"And your father?"

"He wasn't even mentioned in the book," Ling admitted angrily. It had been his blind spot. He'd assumed that the Guild would have written their agreement with his father down before the trade occurred.

"Now you want to come up with a new plan to collapse your father's business?"

"That's exactly right."

They had now stopped at the end of the short, narrow hallway. The floor was still carpeted here, and there were pretty lamps lining the walls. Ling had never thought it felt like a secret passageway or anything. If his room hadn't been built directly to block it, it could have been just a small hallway. But that was the good thing about being inconspicuous.

"But wait!" she exclaimed. "If he's your father, what's stopping him from showing up here tonight or whenever, and finding out about this? As a matter of fact, I'm surprised he hasn't found out about what you've been up to all this time!"

"Hah! No need for surprise," Ling said. "He barely acknowledges my existence. The man had spawned twenty other kids, and counting. Classic case of shoot-and-scoot. Trust me, I'm more likely to come across a half-sibling than to come across my own father."

"So... this," Lan Fan gestured around them in a wide, vague wave. "This isn't your father's? The property I mean?"

"No," Ling said. "It's Mom's. Just because she isn't as well known as Dad doesn't mean she doesn't do well enough on her own."

"Interesting," she mumbled.

"It is. And wait till you meet Mom. I've a feeling she'll like you. She likes girls in general. Her biggest regret with my father was not the headache and the financial disaster, but that she never got a daughter out of her only marriage." Ling laughed when Lan Fan made an uncomfortable face.

"Anyway, what's going to happen now?"

"Well this is where you come in." Ling typed the passcode on the door at the end of the hallway. He turned the knob, and showed her in. "Say hello to Operation Greed 2.0."

* * *

><p>AN: This is intended to be a humourous adventure ficcy... I know the first scene might have been a little on the darker side, but the story shouldn't get any worse than that.<p>

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this so far! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hehe, for someone who doesn't know where this is supposed to go, I tend to write quite a bit. Anyway, the good news is that I managed to figure out the direction of this story. However, I still don't know how to get there. And I apologize in advance, because half of this chapter is basically Ling and his Mom making dumb jokes.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

It was a bad day. Three stacks of files resembling the Briggs Mountains stood proudly on his desk. Who did they think he was? _Olivier_? Even that woman probably had other people to take care of paperwork for her. He couldn't imagine her sitting at a desk calmly poring over sheet after sheet of crap. Maybe if she stabbed each one with her pen, _that_ he could imagine.

Psh... it was a bad day.

"Rain getting you down, sir?" the first lieutenant asked.

"Let's not make certain references, shall we? It's just morning."

And morning it was. A drab, gray, ugly morning with clouds weeping in what appeared to be despair, though what they _could_ despair about, Roy Mustang had no clue. _They_ certainly weren't staring at a pile of paperwork, gnawing their fingernails with worry, nor lamenting the ten feet it would take to cross the space to his –

"Sir, may I make a suggestion?" Lt. Hawkeye said, face neutral as she sorted out more files, surely to be the glazier to his mountains.

"And what would that be?"

"Well, the way to actually get your paperwork done, I heard, is to work on them."

"The silly things you hear, Lieutenant," Roy retorted, but slid one stack closer to him anyway. "You ought to spend your time more with the right people."

"And who would that be, sir?"

The door opened before Roy could retort, and in came a haggard looking Falman, hair sloppy with the rain. He trailed in a pool of water, dripping from his raincoat, and Roy could see Hawkeye frown just a little bit. From inside his coat, he pulled out a folder, the shade resembling the ones already squatting on Roy's desk.

"Not him, that's for sure."

Roy released a long held-back sigh. He tried to read from Falman's expression what became of the meeting, but his eyes remained as unexpressive as they always were, and the presence of the frown pinching his brows could merely be attributed to the horrendous weather. Anxiety roiled at the pit of Roy's guts, though just a bit. He was definitely past his days when paperwork got the better of his mood. And since the uprising, he admitted that nothing, so far as he could tell, had been worse than his time there.

Hawkeye stopped Falman from proceeding into the room – his boots were all muddied – and took the folder from him, delivering it to Roy's desk just like she did the others. Then she ushered him out, with Roy hearing the words 'clean' and 'inappropriate', before his mind shifted to the folder before him.

Tentatively, he lifted the cover, and focused his attention first and foremost on the line delineating the collateral.

_Lower tariffs by 15% on all incoming Xingese produce, 35% on electronic parts, and 20% on all other imports until the capital of 3,500,000 sens with the compound interest of 18.85% are paid._

Well. That wasn't half-bad. Roy wasn't going to lie and say he didn't half expect toddler sacrifices and fountains of youth to be listed among the collateral. By comparison, this wasn't that bad at all. When he looked up, he found Hawkeye staring intently at him, and he handed her the contract.

"I guess the next question is, what could he gain by these terms? Chu never makes a benign trade," Roy said, twirling his pen in between his fingers.

"Perhaps he is trying to impress certain people of influence over at Xing?" Hawkeye suggested. "Lowering tariffs on Xing's burgeoning international trade would make him very popular there."

"But he's a naturalized Amestrian citizen now," Roy countered. "His business is stationed primarily _here_. One would think he'd avoid competitions of all sorts."

"The goods that he asked lower tariffs for are not in direct competition with his business. Actually, with lower tariffs, the products of Xingese businesses would become cheaper here in Amestris."

There it was. The dots connected, and Roy felt the understanding dawn on him. "And the Amestrian counterparts would find it difficult to compete with that. Thereby prompting, perhaps, risky business deals with a certain money lender." Roy had always known that Henry Chu was an intelligent man. To expect less would be naïve and suicidal.

Something that the government was still learning.

Falman came in once again, this time robed only in his blue uniform, the raincoat and boots discarded. Behind him, Havoc followed, and the distinct aroma of cigarette smoke filled the room.

"What are the chances the higher-ups would approve this?" Hawkeye asked. "For a small project like purging the black markets, it seems too much of a risk. Not to mention, counterproductive. The last thing we need in order to eliminate the underground networks is to introduce more instability to the economy."

"Well, our assignment isn't to get _rid_ of them," Havoc interrupted, looking over Hawkeye's shoulder to read the contract. Falman and Breda had spent the previous night meeting with Chu and other representatives of XYZ Ltd. to strike a bargain for 3.5 million sens. That amount was laughable, considering that the assignment had been given almost next to no funding. But Havoc was right. The instructions merely ordered them to start sniffing around, acquire leads, obtain more information so that they could eventually construct an economic plan on how to diminish the illegal markets.

"They have to approve it," Roy said, almost quite sure of himself. "At least President Grumman would, and we can leave it up to him to convince the others. It's either this or eventually in the future we would find ourselves in a deeper hole bargaining for an even thornier rope."

"If things go according to plan," Falman added, "The tariffs would be lowered for only a month or so. That shouldn't be enough to deeply and widely affect our economy. It takes a while for things like that to take effect. And by then we either drop the project or..."

Nobody spoke, but they all knew.

Roy stood up from his desk, energized. This was the best they could hope for; there was no use in wasting time. "Alright! Lieutenant Hawkeye, please deliver that to the Major General. Havoc, it is your turn to meet with the brats."

"Me?" Havoc slipped his cigarette from between his lips. "Why?"

"Because you're really good at field missions, congratulations!"

"I wouldn't exactly call a trip down to Amestris University in South District a field mission, sir."

Roy pulled the first file from the stack to his left. "Consider it a compliment that I think you'll be slightly less inconspicuous among college students than the rest of us would be."

"Fuery's the youngest!"

"Fuery would be on his day off tomorrow," Roy said, forcing just a hint of finality in his voice. Not that he suspected Havoc wouldn't follow his orders, but that Hawkeye gave a meaningful glance at her watch before heading out the door, a subtle insinuation that he better be halfway done with his paperwork by the time she came back.

Sometimes Roy wondered who really was the slave driver around here.

-o-

Lan Fan was ushered into a room not unlike the one in which she and Ling fought. There were no windows, naturally, since it would defeat the entire point of a secret chamber; however, the room was well lit with white lamps settled in the corners, bordering a wide, mahogany table looking ready to faint with all the clutter it was upholding. She almost asked if indeed it was a bodyguard he needed and not an assistant with a penchant for cleaning, but she bit back the comment. She'd never been one to joke with an employer, and it was only because this one was young and lively that she found herself mirroring his attitude. Or at least, _attempting_ to. She read about that once, a long time ago. It was why smiles could be so contagious.

Ling motioned for her to take a seat, though where, she couldn't figure out. There were only three seats in the room: the tall, leather one behind the desk, and two identical, squat square chairs in front. The latter were also filled with notebooks and folders and laminated rolls. When she remained standing, he hooked his arm in hers and led her to the leather seat. She squirmed.

"Nah, this is the only good view," he explained as he planted her on the chair. He leaned forward from behind her, taking a ratty looking notebook on the desk, and flipping it at a seemingly random page. On the spread, several words were scrawled in big block letters.

"The last place a man looks is under his own two feet," Lan Fan read. Now what in the world was that supposed to mean?

"A piece of advice from Mom," Ling explained. She looked at him through her peripherals, because if she'd so much as turn her head, she'd be kissing his cheek. She shifted uncomfortably, but his left hand was gripping the left armrest, and he was leaning out over her right shoulder. "The problem with the first Greed Operation was that we were an obvious external element."

Aha. Lan Fan began to understand. "You're planning to attack them from the inside out?"

"Something of that sort." He cleared a space at the edge of the desk and sat on it. "It's too dangerous to plant a spy right inside their company, so we're not going to be attacking from dead center. But if we were to engage them as a client..."

"You mean... something like faking business with your father? Borrow money as a fake client?" Lan Fan asked.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking," Ling replied.

"Hold on," she said. "_You_ are not planning to go as the client, right? I mean, I know you and your father aren't on good terms, but if your name is linked enough to his that a web search would quickly associate you two as son and father, then he'd still recognize you if you came to him."

"You're right, which is why I'm not going to be the client."

"Then who would be?"

"There'd be two. And one of them is going to be the government," he said quietly, smirking as he let that sink in. Lan Fan blinked. He'd just told her that the government had often benefited from XYZ Ltd. many times. How would they get it to go against one of their biggest sources of monetary assets?

She closed the notebook shut and fiddled with the corners. She wondered how safe it was to question her employer's plans, but he did tell her that part of her job was to help him work out the knots, and she did have financial and corporal interests staked in the gamble. "You're planning to involve the government? I don't know, Ling. After the whole uprising years ago, I don't think it's the best time to play with our not-so-friendly higher ups, even if President Grumman seems to be patching things up nicely." Gee, _she _could get deported back to Xing, and what would happen to her grandfather then?

"Careful Lan Fan, your enthusiasm would inflate my ego," Ling said. He snatched another coiled notebook from the mess, and flipped through it. He then narrowed his eyes at her, and asked, "Did you know that Auto-Mail has been compromised?"

Dread pooled in Lan Fan's stomach. "Compromised?" she grabbed the notebook from Ling, too worried to think about how that action might come across to her employer, but Ling just leaned back on the desk again. On the page, there were only incomprehensible notes, dates, and names of people she didn't know. "What do you mean by 'compromised'?"

"Look, I don't know too much of the details yet, but I did hear word that the State Military is sending a team to start the investigation."

Lan Fan swallowed, wondering what it meant for her. This stunt with Ling might ensure her welfare for the next two months (and she meant that quite loosely, since whatever they were going to do didn't sound as... self-preserving as she would like, even for a service such as she delivered), but after that how would she get a job? She had no degree, and her high school diploma was a useless square pulp that hundreds of others could pawn. Even if she worked 24/7, any decent employment registered in the Social Bureau for her skill level would not give her enough money to support herself and her grandfather's medical needs.

But perhaps... perhaps after all of this, if things went _right_, her grandfather wouldn't _have_ medical needs. First, she had to make sure of something.

"Are we going to kill your father?" she asked.

"What? Whoa, slow down there!" Ling said, arms up as if pacifying a rabid dog. "I never said _kill_!"

"Good," she nodded. "I'm not an assassin. I don't take jobs that require me to be a hitman."

"You don't have to kill if you don't want to. And I'm confident enough in your skills to know that you can avoid it if you want," Ling assured her. Then his eyes grew curious. "Bad experience?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, but my past jobs are under non-disclosure agreements. I can't tell you anything. You'll have to put all your trust and confidence on my muscles and training instead. Surely you understand." If Ling knew anything about Auto-Mail, and it seemed he did if he knew it was 'compromised', he'd know that the jobs one could find there weren't exactly spotless.

It wasn't that they were illegal, not in the moral connotation of the word. At least not all of them. They were just against the law because they weren't registered properly in the Social Bureau. Some had good reasons for it – why pay twice more for a licensed high-rise roof patcher when one could hire Paninya – and others had more self-interested reasons. Very few of the jobs Lan Fan had taken could have actually been considered 'bad', but when the economy was as controlled as it was, black markets and underground networks could hardly be avoided. It was slightly getting better under Grumman with the alleviation of certain barriers to obtaining licenses and learning skill sets, but with the populace's practiced distrust against the government, many would try to stick with their secret connections.

Lan Fan gripped the cuff of her left sleeve, a nervous habit she had developed ever since she'd been unable to wring her hands together. Perhaps she could join another network, but if Auto-Mail was under investigation, soon the others would also be.

"Hey, I can hear your mind gears working from way over here," Ling said. When she looked back at him, he handed her a box of cookies. "Food! Works wonders, I tell you."

She shook her head, and wondered how this boy got anything done when he was always distracted with something.

"What does Auto-Mail have to do with your father? And the government?"

"Well, the government is always involved in _everything_ so that part's easy. Anyway, this is the clearest way I can put my tentative plan into words: the government's interest in Auto-Mail and the black market is not that urgent, at least not yet, so the military team being deployed is small and underfunded."

He handed her a brown folder storing paper-clipped photocopies of the state mandate.

"Where did you get this?" Lan Fan whispered.

"A man I'd introduce to you later." Then he continued. "Guess where they're going to get the money? Papa Chu, that is! But, and here's the crucial part, we have connections with Auto-Mail too. So we set up another deception, this time with Auto-Mail members as clients who need funds to throw the military dogs off their trail. Then somehow, and this is the part that still needs ironing out, we'll have to reveal that XYZ willingly conspired against a government venture."

Lan Fan nodded. The plans had bones. It wasn't as solid as she'd like, but the essence of betrayal was there. All it would take to make the business collapse was to withdraw its government support, since by itself, 7-11 had dealt more than its fair share of injuries that it would take a short time for it to just implode. Plus, if it would be revealed publicly, the government would be _forced_ to withdraw its support, rather than lose face.

"There's one thing I'm hesitant about," Lan Fan admitted.

"Just one? Whew!" Ling wiped an imaginary sweat from his brow. "What is it?"

"I don't feel comfortable throwing Auto-Mail as bait to the military dogs. What if we just get caught?"

Ling grinned. "Well the best part of this plan is that the team investigating the black markets is actually involved with us!"

He ended with a ta-da gesture, and almost as a punchline, something slammed below on the first floor, followed by a shriek. "Ling!" It was a testament to how loud it was when they could hear it in a room tucked away behind a larger room, a closet, and an entire hallway.

The boy in front of her jumped from the desk and tucked his bangs away from his eyes. "That'd be Mom. Time for introductions, I guess."

Lan Fan didn't know whether to shake her head to keep her mind from reeling, or to hold it still. Only if she'd had two hands. She found herself massaging her right temple, pondering if it was a bit too late to retract her agreement to the deal.

A million sens. This was a little crazy, even for a million sens.

She and Ling traversed the narrow hallway again, back to his closet, and finally out into his room. Lan Fan was only emerging from the jungle of suit sleeves and sweater hoods, when the door to his room opened, and a woman came in, looking around, a frown evident on her face.

"So messy, and.." she trailed off as she spotted them. Dressed in an off-white office suit, beige nylons, and white high heels, with her hair strictly pulled back in a severe ponytail, she seemed an ethereal being of cleanliness, intent on throwing out the trash. She was one of the most beautiful women Lan Fan had ever seen. Lan Fan tensed when the woman's gaze, shadowed only by a pair of tinted visors, fixed upon her. Slowly, she pulled the shades down, and Lan Fan uncomfortably twisted her left cuff as she endured a thorough up-and-down scrutiny.

"Ma, this is my new friend!" Ling exclaimed, completely unperturbed by the sudden drop of temperature in the room. Or maybe that was only in Lan Fan's imagination.

"Oh!" the severity on the woman's face completely evaporated, replaced instead by an excited gleam in the eyes, the twin of which Lan Fan found permanent in Ling's own. Her mouth stretched into a toothy grin, and Lan Fan now found it quite unnerving how similar she and Ling looked. "A friend! And here I thought it was another half-sister."

"Another?" Lan Fan muttered under her breath. How many girls had shown up in this house claiming to be a sister?

"And here I was, murdering your father eight different ways in my head!" She took in Lan Fan again with an appraising gaze. "Considering that this girl would have been born while your father and I were still married... but that's not the case at all, is it?" She patted Lan Fan's cheeks with soft, moisturized hands, her nails digging slightly into her cheeks. "Oh, you're cute! You're staying for dinner, right? You're so skinny. But we'll have udon tonight. Or perhaps we'll go out to an AYCE buffet. What do you say about that?" She settled her hands on Lan Fan's shoulders, and only then she noticed the missing arm.

"Oh." Then she looked back at Lan Fan, clearly examining her face, as if she hadn't taken a close enough look earlier. "Wait, are you sewer-girl?"

"You know about that?" Lan Fan asked, a little rattled by the attention she's being given. What was up with this family and all their touching? Didn't they have the slightest notion of personal space?

"Ling told me," the woman nodded. And almost as if just remembering her son's presence, she turned to him, outraged. "I told you to leave the poor girl alone! You've been searching for her for years! You told me you stopped."

Years? That was a surprise. Why would he be looking for her?

"I did! She conveniently showed up on our doorstep!"

The woman placed an arm around Lan Fan's shoulders, guiding her out of Ling's room, but not before sending a menacing glare at her son. "Clean your room." Then she turned back to Lan Fan, her voice gentle and saccharine. "You know, you don't have to be involved again if you don't want to. My son is just a bit too persistent. Looks like you've had your fill of Yao adventures." Lan Fan could tell she was studiously ignoring her left arm – or lack thereof.

"It's okay," Lan Fan said, going down the steps, wondering how she could escape this woman's hold. "He and I already made a deal. And it's only going to be for a couple of months."

"And what role are you going to be fulfilling this time around? I sincerely hope he didn't convince you to sign up as a sewage partner."

Lan Fan chuckled. "No, ma'am. A bodyguard."

The woman's eyebrows rose. "How much is he paying you?"

"Ma!" Ling called from behind them, descending the stairs in a rush. "You're not suborning my employee, are you?"

His mother ignored him and turned back to Lan Fan with a wicked wink and a conspiratorial one. "Whatever it is, I'll double it if you could babysit him on the side. He says he's too old for the governess, but he can't even clean his room. Sorry about that, by the way. We're kind of in between maids. I'm sure there's a bionic dust bunny in his room somewhere, and..."

"Ma, leave Lan Fan alone, will you? Look at her, you're overwhelming her!"

"I am not!" she stated a matter-of-factly, and began to fiddle with Lan Fan's bun. "Her hair is just not done properly. Now sweetie, turn around and I'll give you a perfect ponytail." Lan Fan put up her only hand to her head, shielding the shabby bun from prying fingers, and took several steps back to distance herself from the overbearing attention the two were showing. Kicks and punches she was used to, but this?

"Ah, it's alright Ms. Yao." Lan Fan patted the loose bun on her head, made even looser during her fight with Ling. Over the last two years, she'd managed to learn how to make a bun with only one hand, involving several pins, rather than an elastic.

"How's life at Younge?" Ling's mother asked, after an extended awkward silence that Lan Fan almost felt guilty about.

"Younge?" Lan Fan asked. "It's alright, I guess. But how did you know..." Even Ling didn't know where she lived yet. They only became acquainted minutes ago.

"Oh," Ms. Yao lifted a manicured finger, and pointed at the doorway to the house. "Tan brick dusts. There's that insanely ugly wall at Younge right? I don't even know why they call it a wall. I heard that pieces of it fall off every time some passerby sneezes."

Lan Fan stared at the bits of sediment she had trailed in, torn between feeling embarrassed that she had tainted this lovely house (_while they were in between maids, how dare she!)_ or feeling a little uneasy by how much the woman could discern just by that... little... thing. She shifted, finding her left cuff again, and began to wonder what else Ling's mother, or even Ling himself, had found out about her just from her appearance and her actions. When she looked up at them, they just smiled back at her. Identical twin smiles.

Sweat ran down her back. For the first time, she felt a little chilled by those upturned lips. Lan Fan tried to return it, but she thought she must have sent them a grimace instead. What kind of people did she come across?

"So," Ling said, swinging his hands. "Would that be the Tong Hua restaurant or an AYCE?"

"AYCE," his mother said. "Your bodyguard needs little more... body. You're alright with that, sweetheart?" The last part was leveled at her.

"Actually," Lan Fan said after finding her voice. "I need to return to my grandfather. He also hasn't had a decent meal in a while–"

"He can come with us! We'll bring him along," Ms. Yao interrupted.

"Ah, no he can't. He's quite ill, you see. He'll need different type of food."

"Well, how about this?" Ling interrupted. "We'll go to the AYCE, and then pick up your grandpa afterward. We'll bring him here, and call for an assistant. How sick is he?"

Lan Fan shrugged. "Some days are better than others." She didn't feel comfortable eating out, spending so much, and splurging on food when her grandfather could sometimes, at his worst, barely digest chicken soup. Tealicious had been the only indulgence she allowed herself.

But how would she say no to these people? If she could, she would have walked out the door the moment she found out who her employer was.

So it was that she found herself tucked in the backseat of a rather expensive looking, though extremely pristine white car, waiting for the garage doors to open. She closed and opened her hand, unable to help the feeling of excitement from rising. It had been a crazy long time since she had gone to a buffet.

When they were well on the road, she felt Ling move beside her, close, an arm going around her shoulders.

"Hasn't anyone told you that seatbelts are these wonderful inventions that actually keep you safe in a car?" He pulled the band across her body, from behind her left shoulder to the right side of her waist, and she heard the distinct click as he tucked it into the latch. The satisfied grin he gave her let her know that he was completely aware he was the cause of the two red patches on her cheeks. For a moment she considered sticking her tongue out, but she had heard that it could be an actual cause of employment termination in some jobs, so she held back. She didn't sacrifice her personal space just to be fired over a seatbelt.

A loud crash stole her attention from Ling, and she felt her heart almost jump out of her throat when she found another car, uprooted with its wheels high in the air, rolling towards them. She struggled with the seat belt, intending to leap out of their car, and cursing all the while at Ling who had the audacity to plug her in when there was _a car about to smack into them_; suddenly, their car twisted to the left in an acute turn to avoid the other, and the abrupt acceleration jostled Lan Fan in her seat. Her hair came fully undone, and she watched pins spin out from her head and settle on the floor. The scene out the window spun uncontrollably, the screech of the breaks ringing in her ear, her seat belt digging into her flesh as the force pushed against her like an invisible hand.

Finally, after a long moment, their car righted itself, several feet away from the other one. Lan Fan exhaled. Then she remembered Ling, and looked beside her. Was she on the job now? Did she have to protect him now? Was he okay?

But he returned her worried gaze with an amused smile.

"Ugh, what the hell is _wrong_ with you?" she found herself saying, even though she didn't make it a habit to snap at her clients. She almost punched him, but he nodded towards the window.

"Nothing's wrong. It's just Izumi," he said, as if _that_ explained everything.

"What in the world is Izumi?" Lan Fan looked at where he was staring, and to her left, just outside her window, a woman stood, hair done up in braids, staring at them with eyes like a raging storm. _What the..._

In a flash, the woman's hand punched through the glass beside Ms. Yao's seat, shattering the windows, but Ling's mother didn't even flinch.

"Yuna, you still owe me for the pig!" the woman yelled.

Ling's mother just smiled. "I told you I'd pay it in installments!"

"It's a freaking _pig_! Who pays installments for meat?"

"I pay my hairdresser in installments! Why not a butcher?"

"And what do you expect me to do with Mason?"

Ms. Yao threw a bunch of cash out the broken window. "Don't frown so much, Izumi! You'll look old!" She started driving away, but a hand crashed against the wall of the car, stopping their progress.

"Who're you calling old?" Just then, the woman noticed Ling sitting at the back seat. He gave her an impertinent grin, and her eyes narrowed even further. Lan Fan managed to unbuckle her belt, finally, and she scooted closer to Ling, grabbing the door latch next to him just in case the woman decided to make a grab for the boy. Though if she really wanted to, it didn't look like a scrap of metal could stop her. She had thrown a _car_, for goodness's sake.

"Hey, this is Lan Fan!" Ling called out, rolling down the windows. Lan Fan gritted her teeth and sent him a glare. Now that she thought about it, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if this Izumi got to him. It would serve him right.

"Don't attract her attention. Are you crazy?" she hissed at him.

But Izumi merely regarded her with a twitch of an eyebrow, and she returned her attention to him.

"Meeting the brats tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah, I got class with Ed."

"Tell him not to come back if–" Just then, a blob of bloody goo fell from her mouth, staining the car's polished finish. Lan Fan recoiled back in horror, and continued to watch in numbed silence, as a man, big as a bear, led Izumi away from the road, patting her back gently. Ms. Yao continued to drive away from the suburban street, and rolled into the highway as if nothing had happened.

_I must be dreaming_, she thought.

"Those were the Curtises," Ling told her. Lan Fan stayed quiet. What was she supposed to do? Nod? Tell him, 'Oh it was nice to meet them!'?

Because it wasn't!

"Izumi Curtis and Ma have been in a... friendly competition for the title of the baddest female in Dublith since we moved here."

"Friendly?" Lan Fan snapped back, then shook her head, and chose to ignore Ling the rest of the ride. It would be better for her health. If this was the type of person he made 'friends' with, then she could definitely understand why he needed a bodyguard 24/7.

-o-

Ling eyed the shabby building, wondering if it would crumble to the ground if he let out the belch he was holding back. The dinner at the buffet had been wonderful, as eating always was for him. His mother had taken them to the large, highly-praised restaurant a few miles from Dublith, specializing in Xingese cuisine, but one that also served Amestrian, and the occasional Cretan, dishes. Lan Fan had looked reluctant to go for more than one trip (though her first serving was piled as high as his and she devoured it with an unabashed appetite), but he'd convinced her to go with him for a second round. He had to pile her dishes himself with food he suggested she try, but even then, as soon as they got back to the table, she looked more ready to hoard the food away in a fridge than to eat them.

He understood why now. They drove to Younge immediately after dinner, with Lan Fan giving directions as to where her apartment was. Ling saw the wall his mother had talked about earlier, agreeing with her that it wasn't really much of a wall. But then again, things here seemed to fulfill only half of what they were meant to be. The building in front of which they parked didn't even look like a residential building. It looked like a quilt... made out of bricks, mortar and wooden boards. How Lan Fan and her grandfather could survive the winters in there, he didn't want to know. It didn't get nearly as cold as it surely did up in Briggs, but it could still be uncomfortable for them.

Lan Fan hopped out of the car, and made for the entrance. He followed her, thinking she might need assistance getting her sick grandfather down. When she didn't stop him, he strode up beside her. There weren't any elevators, though he was sure he'd counted at least five storeys, so they followed the hallway until they reached the end of the building, where they could access the higher floors through rickety staircases.

It wasn't like Ling was unaware that people could be this poor. As a matter of fact, he'd known people even poorer, even in Dublith itself, pestered with gangs as they were. But _knowing_ didn't prepare him for the oppressive feel of depravity. He was about to sigh, but cut himself off before he could fully inhale the pungent odour he could only describe as public-washroom-smell, but worse.

"Ling," Lan Fan said, a few steps ahead of him. Her voice sounded different, deeper, softer in the claustrophobic stairwell. "May I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Your mother said that you were searching for me for years. Why?"

"Well, we did spend a rather... memorable night together, don't you think?" He didn't miss the eye-roll she sent him. "What?" he asked, voice high in a teasing tone. "You don't feel the same way? I am hurt! All this time, I was just a one-night stand to you?"

"Seriously!"

Ling chuckled. "Okay, okay. But I told you already, back home." Ling tried to form the words in his head in a way that would sound satisfying. He didn't think she'd appreciate thinking he pitied her. But it wasn't pity. It was guilt. Those were different things.

"I felt responsible for the explosion that took your arm, and not to mention, you disappeared from Hawkeye's radar. Do you know how difficult that is? Not to mention, scary. I was more than willing to pay your medical bills for you – I still am, by the way, just let me know – but we couldn't find you anywhere. If we did, I would have been less worried and not as... curious, I guess, to track you down."

Lan Fan merely nodded, and Ling felt a little cheated. All that explanation for a nod.

"Well?" he urged her, as she opened the door to the fourth floor. "What happened? Where did you go?"

She gave him a defensive look. "Non-disclosure agreement."

"What? You started working already?"

She opened her mouth, as if to correct something he said, but closed it again, and schooled her face into neutrality.

Okay. Interest definitely piqued.

But before he could pursue his next question, she stopped in front of a door, and jammed a key into a lock. She opened it up, and let him in, her face defiant as he took in her humble quarters. The place was only a little bigger than his own hidden room; to the side was a sad excuse of a passage leading to one bedroom and a bathroom. There was a sagging couch in one corner, piled with neatly folded blankets and a pillow. A small table stood beside it, swept free of dust, with only a small ledger to populate it. To his right was the kitchen, but there was no dining room to speak of.

"It's impressive," he said, and she gave him a flat look. "No, really! The way you managed to keep things clean and neat. Honestly, if I were in your situation, I wouldn't fare any better than having a cardboard box. With dust bunnies."

She gave a small smile, indicating that at least he tried. "Grandpa's in the room," she said. "I'll start packing up my things. See if you can get him up."

Ling nodded. He entered the room quietly, almost switching on the lights, but remembering quickly how rude that would be if someone was resting in bed. He saw a small, dark figure swathed in blankets, but he didn't hear heavy breathing. That was a good sign. Hopefully that meant today was one of his better days. He walked closer, reaching out to gently shake the old man, when a hand enclosed his wrist in a grip so tight, he would have at least sprained it if he made sudden movements.

"Who are you?" a rough, thickly-accented voice asked, and Ling found the elder man sitting up in bed, looking at him like a bed bug.

"Grandpa!" Lan Fan called, as she rushed into the room. She knelt in front of the bed, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "This is Ling. He's my new employee. He'll be taking us to a more comfortable place."

"I don't know how you can still trust your clients after–"

"Oh, but I know Ling!" Lan Fan assured him, and she turned to Ling, urging him to back her up. Ling began to nod earnestly.

"We met a couple of years ago, sir." The old man grunted, and released his hand. Ling looked back at Lan Fan, mouthing 'I thought you said he was sick!' as he rubbed his reddened wrist. She only looked back at her grandfather, concerned, as he started coughing. She reached out for a handkerchief on the nearby table, and brought it to him. When the coughing fits ended, the handkerchief came away with bloodied spots.

Ling frowned, then helped Lan Fan bring the old man to his feet. Across her shoulder, a sling bag hung limply, and he wondered if that was all she was going to take with her.

"Here," he offered. "I can take him down to Mom. If you need to pack more things, go ahead."

She nodded. "I also need to bring a note to the superintendent, telling them we won't be here for the next two months."

Ling nodded. "Tell them they can rent it out if they want. We'll find you two another place after our contract ends." He bore the weight of her grandfather as she transferred his arm to Ling's shoulders. He wasn't heavy at all, but the trip down to the parked car was made a little difficult by the constant glares the old man was shooting his way. Though he was born in Amestris, Ling was aware of propriety differences between the two countries. His mother might have instilled in him the values and priorities of the Xingese, but compared to this old man, perhaps he wasn't traditional enough. He could practically taste the don't-touch-my-granddaughter threat in those eyes.

His mother rescued him from the uneasiness when she flashed the old man a reassuring smile as soon as they exited the building. Or perhaps Lan Fan's grandfather was just relieved to see that they had a chaperone? Regardless, his mother guided him to the backseat, taking up the spot where Lan Fan had been earlier. Ling took the passenger seat.

Lan Fan came down only a moment later, two bags in tow, and the four of them made the quiet trip back to Dublith. When they arrived at his house, his mother had him settle Lan Fan and her grandfather in two of the guest chambers on the second floor. Theirs were on the third, but it was directly accessible through the hallway adjacent the stairs.

"If you need anything," Ling said, pointing to the doors visible just beyond the railing. "Mom and I are close by. I mean, you might need a bomb to wake Ma up, but she can take care of things. I mean..." He trailed off quietly, only realizing that a bomb joke may not be an appropriate one considering his current circumstances. Sometimes he wondered why he had to be cursed with verbal diarrhea.

She waved him off, nonchalant, as she closed the door to her grandfather's room. She began to head for her own, but stopped in the middle of the hallway to rummage through her bag.

"I almost forgot," she said, and from it she took out a tightly-knitted, black tuque. "I don't know if you want it back, but I did find it more useful as a hat."

Ling took it, realizing immediately what it was. Though the lower part that should have covered the face was cut out, there were still the two obvious red lines that trisected what once had been his mask.

"You kept it?"

She shrugged, but let a small smile slip through. "It was free. It's better than having to buy one."

He chuckled, and stretched it down over her head. "Keep it. I kinda grew out of its style." He gave her a pat on the head, which she swatted away. It only made him laugh harder. "Good night, Lan Fan," he said, before taking the stairs two steps at a time.

"Oh, Ling?" He turned back to see Lan Fan playing with her left sleeve. Nervous habit, it seemed. He wondered if she used to wring her hands together when she still had two.

"Look, this might be a little tough for Grandpa," she began. "He's got more than his fair share of... issues with your father, and even if we're working towards bringing him down, it's still hard for Grandpa to swallow. It's just..."

"I understand," Ling said. And he really did. He had dealt with five cases of vandalism and three of slander before he realized that people seemed to think that getting to him would mean getting to his father. There had also been two 'accidents' perpetrated by several siblings, but those hadn't been an indirect message for their dad. As a legitimate child (not all of his siblings were), he had the opportunity to inherit XYZ Ltd. should something happen to their father. He wasn't the first in line, of course, but for some reason, 'the lesser the better' seemed to be a mantra many of his siblings went with.

"He's not going to be very fond of you," she added. "That's all I'm saying."

"How much does he know?"

"Most of everything. I can't exactly keep a lot of things from my grandfather. Even when I try, he finds out eventually."

Ling chuckled. "Parents and guardians, how dare they, right? Don't worry. Not a lot of people are fond of me anyway. I'm used to it." He made a point of heaving an exaggerated sigh.

Lan Fan's smile broadened a bit.

"Let me know if you need anything," he reminded her one final time, before going up to bed.

-o-

Ling woke to the smell of burnt dumplings. His nose, as usual, was awake before the rest of him, and when he opened his eyes to find drops of rain violently pelting his window, he wondered why the smell of rain didn't wake him first. The sound of his stomach grumbling answered that question for him. Ah, well... there went some decent pork and shrimp. It was almost disappointing. His mother must have wanted to impress the guests with her cooking skills. It wasn't like she couldn't cook; Ling had known his Mom to boil egg and water, and surely those counted for something. He could only boil water, after all.

Guess they better start looking for another maid soon.

After washing up, he trotted downstairs to find no dumplings. Burnt though they were, he was never one to waste food. There was, however, Lan Fan sitting by the dining table, wiping her mouth with her hand, an empty bowl in front of her. His mother was standing behind her, mouth pursed in concentration as her fingers wound Lan Fan's hair in a braid.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" His mother chirped, eyes never wavering from the locks she was interweaving.

"Where's breakfast?" Ling asked, eyes forlornly tracing the outline of the bowl.

"Oh," Lan Fan said, following his gaze. "They were burnt... I thought you might not have wanted to eat them. Sorry! I can make you something, if you want." She started to rise from her seat, but was harshly pulled back down by his mother's grip on her hair.

"Don't worry about that," Ling said, waving her concern away. He grabbed instead a small red bean pastry on the counter, where a pile of confectioneries lay ready for his insatiable stomach. His mother had long ago stopped issuing her no-sweets-for-breakfast rule, especially when Ling tended to eat eggs and follow it with chocolate milkshake, whose sweetness was never disputed. "I didn't hire you to make me food."

"You hired me to ensure your well-being," Lan Fan agreed, not quite reaching the nod she was hoping for. The hold on her head was tight. "I don't want you to faint."

Faint. He glanced at his mother through narrowed eyes, knowing full well from where Lan Fan would have gotten that information. She ignored him, tucking a strand of hair below two others.

"For your information, I have never fainted," he clarified, sitting beside Lan Fan. "I merely experience small lapses in consciousness, in which my feet fail to uphold my weight."

She gave him an unconvinced look. Goodness, was this girl never impressed by anything?

"Never mind that!" he exclaimed. "We are going to Amestris University today!"

"To tell 'the brat' not to go home to Izumi?" Lan Fan asked, and Ling was mildly surprised she remembered the conversation that had transpired between him and the hot-tempered woman. If she was this observant, then it had been a wise choice for him to choose her for the job ahead. He'd merely hoped for a competent martial artist, but if she could pick up and remember things said in passing, she might be more valuable than he'd expected. Lucky him.

"Yes," he answered. "Among other things."

"Job-related things?"

"Lan Fan, people usually go to a school to, you know, _learn stuff."_ Ling pointed to a knapsack hanging by the coat rack in the living room. "I'm a commerce student."

At first, Ling had been convinced, with both parents running their own businesses, that it would be wise for him to choose a different path. Literature, maybe, or even the arts. He'd always been told he had a flair for the dramatic. That was until he woke up one day, with a death threat from a brother in their mailbox, the cheesily insidious words '_I will make you pay_' scrawled in chicken scratch. And it was like an epiphany. There he was, thirteen-year-old Ling, threatened to pay for something he didn't buy (turned out it was bail – the brother was arrested for indecent exposure), and he realized, life was one big, ugly business. To live was to bargain. He might as well learn the best skills to run it.

His mother finished with the braid, wrapping an elastic at the end. There was a purple plastic rose hairpin sitting on the table, and she inserted it by Lan Fan's right ear.

"Ta-da! Oh, how wonderful, isn't it? I've always wanted a daughter!" his mother exclaimed, waving excited hands towards what she surely considered a masterpiece.

"Ma, my hair is longer than Lan Fan's. How come you've never put flowers in my hair?"

His mother ignored him. "This is great! And considering you've brought absolutely no decent clothes, I'll make it a point to help you shop! Oh this is awesome. Just like when Mei comes to visit!" She pocketed the small comb she'd been using to arrange Lan Fan's hair, and started out of the room. "Now I gotta go get ready for work. But this weekend! You. Me. The mall." And with that, she rushed out of the dining room, and headed up the stairs.

"Mei?" Lan Fan turned to back him, fingering the rose tentatively. She cringed, and slowly pulled it from her hair, freeing a few locks from the tight braid to limply frame her face.

"She's my half sister."

"The one your mother caught here in the house before deciding to murder you father eight different ways?"

Ling laughed, partly out of real mirth, and partly out of delight. He was now almost fully convinced of her canny ability to pick things up. "Well, she didn't quite get away with murder. Mei is several years younger than me, so my parents weren't together anymore by the time she'd been conceived. Still, that's not to say that my father wasn't a feast for the paparazzi for the entire week. Incidents did happen."

Lan Fan whistled. "Remind me never to get in your mother's bad side."

He laughed again and finished off his bun. "So. Amestris University today, and yes, there are some job related things we have to do. I'll need to introduce you to some people, and I believe we're getting news from a few of them." He remembered setting an appointment with Mustang. The colonel himself might not appear, but one of his subordinates would surely be there. He was hoping it would be Hawkeye, so that she could meet Lan Fan again, but he doubted Mustang would let her go by herself. "Let me just get ready, and we can go. My first class starts at 11."

He returned to his room, donning on a fresh pair of jeans, and a yellow sweater. For a moment he considered putting up his hair in a braid too, to match Lan Fan, but decided to bundle it up in the usual ponytail instead, just in case the former seemed a bit too childish. When he came out, he found the door to her grandfather's room open as he reached the platform to the second floor. He heard her voice inside.

That's right, they still needed to get a live-in nurse for him.

Though the door was wide open, he knocked first to let them know he was there. He found Lan Fan kneeling by the bedside, her grandfather pale and sweat-soaked. He let out weak coughing fits, and a small trail of blood slipped from the side of his lips. Lan Fan used a towel to wipe it away, and then poured a red liquid into his mouth. He sputtered a bit, but her careful handling ensured that most of the medicine went in.

"Hey, is he going to be alright? Do you want to take him to the hospital before we leave for school?" Ling asked, entering. "It's okay if we're a little late."

She looked back at him, then shook her head. "No, it's okay. He should be fine now that he's drank his medicine."

"We should get someone really soon to help out with him."

"About that..." Lan Fan started. "I have a contact from Auto-Mail who has helped me out before. She's not a nurse, but she is careful. Would it be okay if we get her? She doesn't charge that much, so you don't need to worry about–"

"Money won't be a problem at all," Ling assured her. "Give your friend a call, and give her our address. Tell her to come tonight if she can."

"Thank you," Lan Fan said, face clearly relieved.

He looked back at the old man, and watched as the restlessness slowly ebbed, allowing him to fall back into a deep slumber. Remembering how the man had greeted him the night before, Ling had a feeling that this man had once been a hale and agile fighter. It was sad to see someone fall prey to the clutches of a disease, mostly because of the high expenses, but also because there was no one to blame. It wasn't like a physical fight, not like a business deal. Nature wasn't calculating like that.

"Well, that was some quick medicine you got there," Ling noticed, his eyes catching the bright crimson hue of the liquid. The bottle reflected a glint of light, and Ling paused. Strange that a prescription medicine should be in a clear, glass bottle. Didn't those come in plastic ones, wrapped with medical info and instructions nowadays?

"Who issued that?" Ling asked, reaching forward for the medicine in Lan Fan's hand. She noticed, and pulled back, showing him the small vial, but not allowing him to hold it.

"It's from an independent vendor." Her voice was simple and direct, like how it had been last night when he inquired about her disappearance: it didn't allow further probing.

She turned back, and tucked it into the bag that held her grandfather's things. "Well, if you're ready, then we can go."

"Would it be okay to leave your grandfather alone?" Ling asked. "Ma's going to work, and she doesn't have a regular schedule. Chances are we'd be here before her, and that would be around dinner time."

She nodded. "Yeah, it's okay. His medicine has a twelve hour effectiveness. Things only get bad when I don't get to administer the medicine in time, but so long as he takes it once in the morning and once in the evening, he'll be alright." She turned back, feeling the old man's forehead. "If we could get some food near him though, it'll save him from having to wander the house looking for food."

"Right." Ling and Lan Fan went back down to the kitchen, rummaged the fridge for some easy food they could provide for the old man. What was his name again? He didn't think Lan Fan had ever mentioned. How rude of him, not to even ask. His mother would scold him.

"Hey, uhm, what should I call your grandfather?" he asked, as he found a pack of microwaveable mashed potatoes. He tossed it in the microwave for a minute.

"Fu would be just fine," she answered. She held up a can of just-add-water miso soup, her look asking him if she could give it to her grandfather. He nodded, and grabbed a bowl of left-over wonton noodles from the buffet last night. He heated them up as well, hoping they'd still be marginally warm when the old man needed them, and brought them up to the bedroom in a tray. When that was done, he shouted out to his mother to say they were leaving.

-o-

"Are you sure I'm allowed to be here?" Lan Fan whispered to him. She kept close by his side, the crowded University campus making her jumpy.

"Why not?" Ling asked. "Everyone's welcome here."

"It's a private institution, isn't it? Don't I have to pay?"

"It's the education we're paying for," Ling explained. "The buildings themselves are open to everyone."

"Where are we going?"

"The Great Hall," he said. It was the only one that could fit all the students taking the first year introductory psychology course. He noticed, since they stepped out of his car in the parking lot, that Lan Fan had been greatly distracted. Ling almost wondered how she could not have had whiplash as she turned her head back and forth every two seconds. He knew that downtown South City could be extremely busy; a boy with a car and nowhere to park could never forget that in this metropolis. Today they had to walk half an hour from the nearest plaza with an empty space he could find to the heart of the campus. It wasn't bad, but he was starting to feel sorry for Lan Fan. Did her neck hurt?

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you looking for someone?"

"I'm looking for _many_ someones," she muttered. "How am I supposed to protect you in this beehive? I don't know who I'm even looking for. It could be just about _anybody_."

"Hey, give me some credit!" Ling said, defensively. "I've never pissed off that many people."

"I'm sure your father did," she retorted. "And what about those brothers you said were out to get you?"

"I doubt they'd get me here with this many witnesses." Ling was almost certain of that, but like he'd learned to do since the disastrous Greed 1.0, he allowed a trickle of doubt creep into him. It was no longer safe for him to make bold assumptions, thinking his safety was assured. "You can relax a little bit."

She sighed, her shoulders easing slightly. He maneuvered them through the crowd, eyes combing the posts for street signs. School had started only a week back, and he still hadn't memorized the campus very well. It was large enough that the ten minutes between each class implied a healthy cardio for anyone trying to get from one side of the campus to the other. But it wasn't as large as Ling would expect of the Amestris University campus located in the heart of Central City.

Central... if South was a beehive, Central was a jungle.

He found the intersection leading to the Great Hall. He was leading Lan Fan through a shortcut in between two other buildings, crossing a paved walkway, when he felt her suddenly jerk against him, and he found himself trapped between Lan Fan's body and the brick wall of Boyle Centre.

"This isn't exactly my idea of–" He stopped short, when he heard grunts, and the distinct sounds of limbs hammering against each other. He looked up over Lan Fan's shoulders and realized what was going on.

Ed showed up.

And, as usual, his idea of saying hello was through a punch.

Ling wiggled his way from the wall, but Lan Fan's hand pushed him back against it. She positioned her body, so that she was blocking him from Ed's assaults.

"Hey, Lan Fan, it's okay!" he yelled, sliding once again from her grasp and asserting himself between the two. He deflected one of Lan Fan's kicks with a quick turn of leg, and he caught Ed's next punch squarely in his fists. "Ed here is my friend."

Lan Fan's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, so wide they were with disbelief.

"Oh," she said, much louder than he'd ever heard her before. "Wh-what is this... some kind initiation to your circle of friends? Or is physical violence a prerequisite for your friendship?"

"Who is this?" Edward asked, looking Lan Fan up and down. "Your maid got lost or something?"

Lan Fan snarled at him, but turned her attention back to Ling. "So when you hired me, is that to protect you from your _friends_?"

"No, of course not!" Ling said. "I'm a very sociable kind of guy, you know. I don't discriminate. I find pals anywhere from the sweetest little kitten to the crazy roaring lion – ah, wait not the hair!"

"Who are you calling little, you shifty-eyed punk?" Edward had grabbed his pony-tail, pulling it back.

"Not you, Ed! Trust me. You're not exactly sweet, nor particularly kitten-like." Edward released him, and Ling pulled the hair elastic free, his hair falling down to his shoulders. He fingered the spot where the ponytail had sprouted, feeling his scalp aggrieved. He massaged it gently.

"Geez, and this is Lan Fan. You know, the girl you sent me. Have those books you've been reading addled your long-term memory or something?"

"Lan Fan?" he asked, wide-eyed with surprise. "Oh. I thought you said you were looking for a bodyguard."

"Shh, keep it down, would you? Yes, she _is_ my bodyguard."

Ed sneered. "Eh, okay. It's just that... I was sorta expecting her to look like Armstrong or something. I don't know her. I asked Winry and Paninya to take care of the whole matchmaking thing, and if it's good enough for Win, I was sure it'd be good enough for you."

Ling nodded. "Yes, she's good, so I'd appreciate it if you don't go around beating her up."

"Like he could," he heard Lan Fan mumble beneath her breath. For one intense moment, the three of them stood in an awkwardness so solid, Ling could have almost held it in his hands. He cleared his throat.

"Class? Our prof doesn't exactly appreciate stragglers."

The rest of the walk to the Great Hall was blanketed in uneasiness, with the two as rigid as poles on either side of him. Where was Al when you needed him? Ling had a feeling that the introduction would have gone so much better if Al was here. He'd know how to smooth things over, make up for his brother's lack of decorum. But Al visited the University only once or twice a week. He was still a high school student after all; he only came here to converse with a pharmaceutical professor who had given him a research project. Al was, if anything, quite an over achiever. Not that his brother wasn't, but Ed... Ed didn't exactly use niceties to display his skills.

During lecture, Ling noticed the way Lan Fan pored over his notes, often pointing out things from the slides that she felt he should jot down. Even without the motivation to do so, she focused on the lecture, more so even than Ling himself, who found his attention wandering from time to time. She particularly perked up when the professor involved the entire class, about a thousand students packed in the hall, in a little activity. The right half of the class was told to close their eyes for a time as the professor revealed to the other half a series of pictures, where the left most image gradually changed shape to form the right most. Then the activity was repeated, but with the halves interchanged. When everyone was told to open their eyes, one single image was projected on the large screen.

"How many of you see an old woman?" The left side of the hall almost exclusively raised their hands. "Now how many see a man carrying a sack?" The right side, where Ling, Ed and Lan Fan raised theirs. The young professor then turned back to his projector and removed two slips of paper that had been covering either side of the image. It turned out that the series of images that they'd been shown initially where only half of the entire collection. The actual first picture most resembled a woman's face, and the actual last a stooped traveler with a heavy load. The middle image was somehow somewhere between the two.

"You see, your mind is more ready to see something if it's been primed to it," the professor began to explain. "This is why observational bias is so dangerous to experiments. This is also what sometimes happens in self-fulfilling prophecies when..."

"This is fascinating," Lan Fan whispered beside him. He looked at her, finding an excited glint in her eyes. "You have to learn this for business?" she asked.

"No, but it's definitely helpful," he agreed. "Psychology can certainly be applied when you need to do a little persuasion." He smiled. "If you're interested, maybe after your contract with me, you can apply to a college or something. Take a couple of courses or get a degree. You'd have enough money for it."

The glint disappeared, and Lan Fan sobered. Ling was about to ask what it was he said that upset her, but the professor began another set of class interaction. He made sure to file it away in his mind, ready for grabbing when he got the chance to ask her in a more appropriate time.

When the class was dismissed, and the three of them filed out of the building, Ling spotted a certain militant lounging about in front of a cafe, smiling at random girls. Ed nudged him in the ribs, letting him know he noticed Havoc too.

"What? What's wrong now?" Lan Fan asked.

"There's our man," Ling whispered to her, nodding in Havoc's direction.

"Oh great. Do we just go up? Say some password or something?"

Ling grinned. "No, we have to be more subtle than that. A bunch of college kids walking up to a State Military man? Not exactly ordinary, is it?"

"Gah, I hate subtlety!" Ed whined.

"Then what do we do?" Lan Fan asked.

Ling's grin widened. "He's an enforcer. There's only one way to grab their attention: make trouble." Ling sidestepped to catch a bun being passed between a hotdog vendor and a skinny student. In one swift motion, he threw the hotdog to the street, where it caught between the wheels of a cyclist. The impediment threw the rider off of his seat, and sent him smashing into a parked car. The vehicle's alarm went off, startling the other students making their way to their next classes. A crowd had begun to gather around the hotdog vendor and the bicyclist, though by the way he was pushing himself off of the car, Ling could tell he wasn't gravely injured.

"Excuse me, excuse me, move it punks, let me through," Ling heard Havoc's voice as the man made his way through the crowd. "Now, now what's going on here?"

"That boy stole my lunch and attacked that cyclist over there!" the skinny student shouted to Havoc, an accusing finger pointing straight at Ling.

"Me?" Ling feigned. "I didn't mean it! It was an accident! I was practicing my golf swing." From the corner of his eyes, he could see Lan Fan's pained expression, one that told him she was so tired and unimpressed with his excuses.

"You, young man, are coming with me," Havoc replied, his cigarette balanced tipsily between two fingers. He turned to Edward. "And you as well."

"Me?" Ed asked. "What did I do?"

"I saw you smile," Havoc explained. "Finding amusement in other people's misfortune is quite the crime."

"Since when?" Ed raged.

"Since you committed it, young man. Now both of you..." he trailed, eyes catching Lan Fan's. Ling gave the smallest nod he could to indicate that Havoc had to take her too. "And you Miss, for being a passive witness, and thereby a guilty accomplice. You must also come with us."

The crowd parted to let them through, whispers beginning to spread. Havoc led them around the street to where he parked a State Military issued car, and motioned for them to get in.

* * *

><p>AN: Well, that's all for now, folks. I'll admit that the next chapter might take a while, because I really need to figure out how the story will play out. Also, I wrote half of this (that's 11 pages) in the last twelve hours, so if things aren't as clear or smooth as they should be, let me know.<p>

I know you might feel differently, but I think the best part of this chapter were the Izumi scene and the Havoc scene. Heh, I definitely perked up when I wrote those parts. Winry was also supposed to make a debut in this chapter, but she got cut out, because this is already 22 pages. So, if any of you are confused about what "Auto-Mail" is supposed to be in this AU, wait until she shows up, because things should clear up by then. Suffice it is to say that it in this world, "Auto-Mail" is a literal pun on automail, where people who are looking for things (ie. jobs, people, information) subscribe to the underground network and get mail regarding what they ask for.

One final thing: a disclaimer. "The last place a man looks is under his own feet," (that quotation written in Ling's notebook) is a popular quote from Rachel Aaron's _The Legend of Eli Monpress_. Actually, you'd have to thank that series for the existence of this chapter, because if I hadn't remembered it, I don't know if I would ever have come up with a plan for Greed 2.0. By the way, it's a wonderful, light-hearted, humourous series, and Rachel Aaron has been a big inspiration to me as a writer. So... if you have like some spare hour or so and in need of something to read, there's your rec of the day.


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